


(W)hole

by ded_i_am_just_ded



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, Canon Compliant, Canonical Character Death, End Game Spoilers, I'm sorry Prompto, M/M, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-09
Updated: 2019-06-09
Packaged: 2020-04-23 17:37:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19155751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ded_i_am_just_ded/pseuds/ded_i_am_just_ded
Summary: There is no happy ending. From the beginning, they had been hurtling towards this end.Prompto's web is small, and it doesn't have a thread to his Soulmate anymore.





	(W)hole

**Author's Note:**

> This isn't nearly what I wanted to write when I started it. But I needed some angst out of my soul, so here we are.
> 
> No beta, we die like men, per usual.

**(W)hole**

 

The soul is a funny thing. Its permanence is fleeting and its desires often left unfulfilled. Soulmates are even funnier. There's dozens of different kinds; friends, family, loves. They weave like a web from a person's heart, no web ever the same, eventual spiraling out to bring everyone together.

A person's web is always changing, threads that evolve or fall away, a battle of emotions always lingering at the edge of a person's conscience. Some stay for the extent of an entire life, most detach eventually and fade away, be it from falling outs or death.

At the core of the web is the strongest thread; a connection to a person's other half, their True Soulmate. Often seen as the most important thread, it's a strong, thick band that can hold an entire person together when they think they'll fall apart.

Prompto doesn't have that thread. At least, not anymore. When he was young, seven or eight, not long after he'd first learned to see the threads, he'd had one. It was a brilliant fuchsia, that thrummed like a guitar string, sometimes crackled like lightning. It was beautiful, something he wished had a real physical form, wished he could touch, wished he could follow.

His parents could see it, too. His father hated something about his entire, small web. His mother often looked disappointed, didn't try to hide it. He didn't understand why.

Apparently that which burns brightest dies fastest.

He dies, for the first time, when he’s ten. He's playing soccer in gym class at school, standing on the edge of the field, being ignored by his classmates. He doesn’t care, he’s not a fan of athletics, even less-so of his classmates. But he’s watching them run down the field to the goal when his body seems to betray him. He’s on fire and he’s freezing. Everything in him shifts and he’s instantly in a brilliant pain, his soul feels like it’s ripped from his body. The edges of the world darken.

He thinks he screams, but honestly, all he remembers is no one turning to look at him. And then he’s falling. He’s pretty sure he’s dying. Even at ten, he thinks maybe that’s for the best.

\--------

His mother holds his hand every time the Doctor is in his room, but drops it as soon as they’re alone. He feels listless, unanchored. It could be the drugs, but he knows it isn’t. When he’s aware enough, he can’t see any of his web, he can’t feel anyone.

He wakes one time to his parents and the doctor talking by the doorway. His father is frowning and he hears enough pieces to put the puzzle together.

_...Soulmate..._

_...connection broke..._

_...heart…_

_...I’m sorry…_

_...nothing we can do…_

He closes his eyes and tries not to cry.

\--------

The next school year, Prince Noctis joins his class.

\--------

Everything changes. He just moves with it. He pushes himself to be different. To be better. And in high school, he finally makes himself approach the Prince. It’s rude to look at other people’s webs, but the Prince’s is always glowing. A dim blue for his father, even dimmer reds that Prompto eventually realizes connect to the two men that often pick him up from school, later realized as Noct’s entourage.

It’s their senior year when Prompto realizes there’s dim threads escaping his chest. Two red ones that connect to Gladio and Ignis, he only notices when Ignis smiles at him over their plates of his homemade curry. When he looks towards Noct, he realizes there is no thread. It’s a horrible realization. He’d thought the two of them were best friends. Surely, there should have been a thread there.

He goes back to his dark, quiet home after dinner and lets himself cry for the first time in a long, long time.

\--------

Noct has a gravitational pull Prompto can’t avoid. He tries, but Noctis won’t allow it. There’s no thread, but for some reason the Prince still demands his presence, wants to play games and sneak unhealthy food into his bedroom. Prompto knows Ignis knows, he’s seen the curl of his lip in a smug smile.

Prompto wants to hang on to what they have. Figures maybe he’s the broken one, maybe that’s why there is no thread between them, despite their obvious affections for each other. It settles in his bones as a chill, sends him spiralling when he’s alone. He’s damaged goods, he’s always known that. He should be, he _is_ just happy to be able to stand by Noct’s side.

Gladio starts taking him to training sessions and they discover his efficiency with guns. Taking the oath, connecting to the armiger, it’s all things he never expected for himself. When Noct’s betrothal to Lady Lunafreya becomes reality, he tells himself it’s enough.

Sometimes, he imagines there’s a thread between them.

It’s pure white and it vanishes when he looks at it.

\--------

They sit on a rooftop of a random motel, legs dangling over the edge, watching the stars in silence. Prompto leans back on his hands, enjoys the radiating heat from his best friend beside him. Like this, he’s content. He can survive with this. He doesn’t need his Soulmate. Noct, as he is now, is enough. The rest, he’ll deal with later.

“What do you think about Soulmates?” Noct asks quietly, catches him off guard. He looks at him, startled, but Noctis is looking down towards the street, profile a dim glow from the streetlamps below.

“I…” he tries, the words stick in his throat, “I try not to.” It’s the truth.

Noct’s silence is so long, he thinks maybe the topic is dropped. But then, “I don’t have one anymore.” Prompto frowns. He knows this, because he was rude when he was younger and looked, but he’d never figured Noct would talk about it.

Eventually, Prompto says, “I don’t either.” And it feels like the world is crashing down on him. He sits forward, drops his hands between his legs and stares out at the horizon, “Mine died when I was ten.”

Noctis leans towards him, puts his head on Prompto’s shoulder and sighs, “My connections to everyone broke when I was little.” He puts a hand over his heart, “I lost everything, everyone I loved.”

Prompto puts a hand around Noct’s shoulders, sets his head on Noct’s and closes his eyes, “It’s scary, isn’t it?”

“Terrifying.”

They leave it at that.

\--------

He sees a color he never thought he’d see again, when Noctis makes his pact with the gods. A brilliant fuschia that burns with magic, cracks like lightning.

It fills him with a horrible sense of familiarity. Like it’s something he should connect to an old, old feeling. He looks away from it, for fear of being caught. Being trapped.

\--------

He never made the connection before, but when Lady Lunafreya dies, he does.

There is no happy ending. From the beginning, they had been hurtling towards this end.

It feels like his soul is torn away again.

\--------

Ten years of darkness makes him hollow.

He holds onto the two strong threads of his web and the few dimmer ones, friends he’s made along the way. They are the lifeline, the thing that keeps him breathing. They keep him waking up to the darkness, keep him strong enough to help those weaker. Noctis sleeps, and Prompto knows he’ll be back.

Sometimes, when he’s been awake too long, he sees the white thread. It pulses like a heartbeat and it settles his nerves. Makes him think maybe things will be alright. Gives him something to hold onto when he’s slipping and there’s no one to catch him.

When Noctis steps out of the truck, his legs can’t hold him up anymore.

Ten years of darkness are nothing against the small smile Noctis gives him. He realizes the darkness made him hollow, but it also held everything else back. He realizes they can’t stop what’s coming. For the first time in eight years, he cries. It makes him feel _alive_ again.

\--------

They watch the darkness together again. He imagines there are stars, but the only lights are the daemons in the distance, sparking with their horrible magic. He loops their pinkies together and takes comfort from that little bit of warmth.

They’re there minutes, hours, in silence. “Remember when we were on the rooftop?” His voice is soft, “When we talked about Soulmates?”

Prompto nods, not trusting his voice. He doesn’t want to hear whatever Noctis has to say. Wants to hold on to the thread that isn’t really there, pure and white and strong.

“I died,” Noctis says, “For nine minutes. That’s what severed all my threads.”

Prompto swallows, fights off the tremor that wants to pulse through him. He doesn’t know where this topic is going, but it already hurts.

“I never had a chance to meet my Soulmate.” He looks skyward, “Sometimes, I would wonder what they were like. I wondered if they’d figured out they weren’t the broken one. If they’d moved on. I wondered how one survives without a Soulmate, or if I would ever meet them and never know.” He just breathes for a few moments, “I always hoped they were happy, whoever and wherever they were.”

He turns his eyes to Prompto, “And then I met you and you were like them. Core torn and not knowing why. But you’re alive, you’re okay.”

Prompto squeezes the small grasp he has on Noct’s pinkie, but doesn’t reply. He’s not okay. He knows Noct knows it. But together, they’re a little less broken.

“Keep moving on, Prompto.” It sounds like a command, “Find something that makes you happy again. Find someone who can complete you.”

“I don’t want to find anyone else.” He says softly, “You’re enough.”

Noctis doesn’t reply, knows anything else he can say will only be a lie.

\--------

“Walk tall...my friends.”

\--------

He dies for the second time, stands over the dissolving remains of a Daemon and watches the white thread turn brilliant, turn fuschia.

Then it fades away as the sun breaks the skyline.


End file.
